"No, Señora. He has vanished."
"I thought you might have seen him," she muttered, with her eyes on the carpet and a look of perplexity on her face. "I am placed in a very difficult position."
"I'm only a poor cove, ma'am, and can't help you."
"Yes, you can. Find out where Mr. Herries is, and bring him to me. I will save him."
"Then you know who killed Sir Simon, ma'am?"
"No. I wish I did," she rose and stretched her arms over her head, "but that seems to be a mystery. Still, I can guess this much; that someone from Indiana killed him. It's a political murder, so as to stop Sir Simon from supplying ships to Indiana."
"But Sir Simon was a jam manufacturer."
"He dealt in other things also. Whenever he saw that he could make money he did business. If he had lived--" she stopped and clenched her hand. "The position is very difficult."
Kind thought so also. She was frank enough with him; much franker than she need have been, especially as she had no guarantee that he would not blab all she had said to others. But her speech about Sir Simon's dealings with the Republic supplied him with a motive for the assassination. Perhaps after all it _was_ a political murder, for the emissary of the Republic, who had dropped the cigarette in Herries' room, might also smoke that especial brand. But why should Herries have been deliberately implicated in the affair? He might find out, if he served this lady's ends, since she also was bent upon saving Herries, and hanging the real culprit. If the murderer was a political adversary, she would certainly be doing a good service to her father.
"What do you wish me to do, Señora?" he asked.